


Breathe Easy For A While

by hatethesilence312



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, POV Outsider, is this fluff, literally everyone notices before Stiles and Derek, oblivious boys, this feels like fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatethesilence312/pseuds/hatethesilence312
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows about Stiles and Derek before Stiles and Derek</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Easy For A While

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Love Song" by Sara Barilles because that song is great and I was going to name it Head Under Water but I changed my mind. Let me know what you think!   
> (Warning: I have spent too long writing this and I feel guilty for not posting for so long so I am posting it without really checking it over. if you feel like collecting all the little errors that are undoubtedly there and posting them in a comment, I'll go back in and fix them when I get the chance)

Boyd

            Boyd doesn’t really like words. Everyone around him uses too many. He’s a firm believer that you can learn anything you need to from a person’s body language alone.

            He thinks that’s why he was the first one to notice.

             A blind man could see the tension between Stiles and Derek that started the minute they met. That’s not what he’s referring to.

            He was the first one to realize that there were actual _feelings_ there, buried deep beneath frustration.

            It was after everything had begun to settle down after the Darach. Derek, Isaac, Erica, Cora, and Boyd were hanging out in Derek’s loft. They were spread out on the floor, reading or talking and doing their own things, just together, close. Peter was there too, off to the side, keeping his distance.

            “Packs need this,” Derek had said, “Keeping each other company is important, especially after traumatic events.”

            They all heard the rattle of the jeep coming closer, and then Stiles, his heart beating faster than usual. Derek sighed and disarmed the proximity alarm before it could deafen them. He unlocked the door and stepped aside right as it flung open and Stiles flailed inside.

            “You,” he whirled on Derek, “are an asshole and you need to know that!”

            Derek didn’t respond, just raised his eyebrows and waited.

            “God, you’re a dick. You know exactly why I’m here, don’t you?”

            “To yell at me, I presume. Although I don’t know what you think gives you the _right—”_

“I was wrong. _You’re_ not a dick, you just think with yours. Your precious little _girlfriend_ killed my childhood friend, a shitload of other innocent people, almost my _dad_ and _Melissa McCall,_ she was freaking _sacrificing_ people! And you almost didn’t _believe me!”_

“I did, didn’t I?”

            “ _Barely!_ And I had to _prove_ it!”

            “Of course you had to prove it,” Derek all but roared. “You wanted me to just take your word over hers? Why would I? What had you done to earn my—”

            “Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare. I didn’t hold you up in a pool for two hours or save your pathetic sourwolf ass so many times that I lost count so you could say _I haven’t earned your trust._ What did _she_ do to earn your trust, hmm? Does she spend her nights staying up researching for you? Did she do _anything_ for you? Or is it all about sex for you, big guy? Is that the case? She was all pretty faced with her long hair and she put out and that was that, she was suddenly the most trustworthy person in the world? Because I have news for you buddy, if sex automatically means _trust,_ I can see why you’ve had these issues in the past—”

            By this point, Boyd was a little shocked Derek had been letting this go on as long as he did, because with every overly stressed syllable Stiles had been shoving himself more and more into Derek’s face, and Derek had been getting stiffer and stiffer.

            He’d been expecting a growl, a roar, something loud and angry, but instead Derek wrapped his hands in Stiles’ hoodie and shoved him forward until his back hit the wall. “Who the hell do you think you are?” He snarled, eyes glowing red.

            Stiles deflated like a popped balloon. “I don’t know,” He said, and there was something raw and disappointed in his voice. “I overstepped. Not pack, I get it.” He shrank back into the wall and Derek released him and took a step back.

            “You’re right,” Derek spat. “You’re not.”

            Stiles nodded slowly and the entire room reeked of his sadness. His face looked shut down, rejected. “I’ll get out of your hair then, you know where to find me when the next monster of the week shows up and you need research. Or when someone’s bleeding out. You know. The usual.”

            He walked out the door but didn’t slam it, just closed it softly and Boyd looked at Derek’s face, watched him sigh and return to his position on the floor, open his book, and pretend nothing happened.

            Boyd looked around and wondered if anyone else had paid attention. Stiles wasn’t really mad that Jennifer, or Julia or whoever she was, had done the things she had. Well, he was, but that wasn’t why he came. He was mad that Derek let himself be played again, that Derek hadn’t trusted him when he should have.

            But everyone else seemed to shrug it off as another fight between the two. So Boyd settled down on the floor and let Erica put her head on his legs.

 

Peter

            Peter loves his nephew, he does. He thinks the remaining members of the Hale family are the definition of misunderstood. Derek watched everyone he loved die. Peter died and came _back_ from the dead. Cora was presumed dead went missing for years before locked in a bank vault.

            Hales aren’t exactly known for being good with words or emotions. So Peter isn’t exactly surprised when he realizes his nephew is in love with the boy he struggles with the most.

            Stiles is rude and doesn’t know what the word _boundaries_ means, he shoves himself into Derek’s space and gets into his head. The two of them go at it worse than children. Of course they’d fall in love.

            Peter realizes it when Stiles gives himself permission to redecorate Derek’s loft and Derek doesn’t protest.

            “There’s a gaping hole in the wall,” Stiles had said. “Doors are great inventions, Derek. _Privacy._ Some curtains for this lovely wall of windows maybe, so people can’t see inside in case something werewolfy happens. Also, I don’t know about you, but I like it when my pipes are hidden. By, I don’t know, walls.”

            The next few weeks are full of loud construction workers and their loud automatic tools and Stiles shouting directions. The werewolves spend as much time as they can out of the noisy loft, wanting to avoid the migraines that come with it, but eventually the place became more than just barely habitable. It looked _nice._

And it smelled, overwhelmingly, like paint, sawdust, and Stiles. Peter suggested air freshener. Derek growled and didn’t leave the loft until the scent faded.

Erica

            Erica likes to think of herself as a matchmaker. Before receiving the bite from Derek, she’d been shoved to the outside by everyone except for Boyd, and he’d never talked much, so she was forced to observe. She learned how to read people, to note how they interact with their friends, to come up with patterns. She learned how to tell when people were deviating them.

            Her pathetic crush on Stiles Stilinski had her watching his body language quite a bit in high school. She knew the way he would shift and angle his body, the different pitches his voice would shift into, the way he would bite his lips or scratch his head when he was nervous.

            She noticed when his body language around Derek Hale started to resemble the way it had looked when he was around Lydia Martin before all this happened. His body language around her was still different than when he was with Scott, but he no longer had that nervous attraction near her, it was reserved for a certain stubbly alpha.

            So, naturally, she started trying to throw them together.

            She may have told a few white lies, “Derek, Stiles has some results he wants to show you from that research you had him do.” “Stiles, Derek told me to have you research this and bring what you find back to him.” But it was _fascinating._ The two thought they hated each other, thought the other lived just to annoy them.

            She knew Derek had to smell the lust that rolled off Stiles at the most inappropriate times—a fight with some woodland creature that ended with Derek’s shirt in tatters, for example—but she wasn’t sure if Stiles knew that Derek’s scent was a slightly weaker version of the same thing.

            She knew it was more than the physical attraction, though, when a fight with the latest monster ended with Stiles taking a claw to the gut. Derek had roared louder than she’d ever heard, and torn the thing to bits, told his betas to set the pieces on fire, and ducked to the ground. He took Stile’s pain and applied pressure to his wounds until he’d slowed the bleeding enough to move him. Then he’d scooped him up and carried him four miles out of the woods and the entire way to the hospital. He sat anxiously in the waiting room until Melissa announced that he’d lost a lot of blood, but would be okay. He’d sunk down with relief, but refused to leave until the Sheriff was there to keep Stiles company.

            Erica had smiled knowingly at him, but he hadn’t even given her a second glance, just went home and set the clothes drenched in Stiles’ blood on fire.

Lydia

            Lydia is embarrassed it took her as long as it did to see. She’s _smarter_ than this. But she was at a pack meeting—she’s not really sure why she bothers with these things, they don’t do much but “bond” because it _helps keep the betas calm and in control,_ which isn’t something she needs to worry about. But it was a Friday night and she’d already finished most of her homework and, unfortunately, all her friends were there so she really didn’t have anything better to do.

            She was examining her manicure and wondering when she should get it redone—the edges were chipping a little, but the cuticles were surprisingly intact—when Derek’s speech was interrupted by Stiles. That’s not really surprising.

            But she noted that the forcefulness of their fighting had settled down. That when Stiles picked apart Derek’s plans, pointed out his flaws, he didn’t do it to be harsh, he didn’t get in his face, not like before. He was slouched back against the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, his entire expression lazily challenging. He raised an eyebrow at Derek and said, “Just trying to help, man, don’t get your furry panties in a bunch.”

            And Lydia realized he was being serious, in a way, that he genuinely wanted to _help_ Derek now. He points out his flaws because he wants to help him improve.

            And Derek takes it. Derek listens to what he says, bickers a little for appearances, but in the end, he ends up doing exactly as Stiles suggested.

            Interesting.

Jackson

            Jackson only found out because Lydia pointed it out. He didn’t really care before he knew and he didn’t really care after.

Isaac

            Isaac will admit to being almost as clueless as Scott. Apparently Stiles and Derek’s hatred toward one another began fading sometime after Isaac moved in with Scott. Apparently Stiles was lonely and Derek was around.

            He realized when he went to Derek’s house without a pack meeting being called for the first time in a long time. When the entire pack is together, the scents mingle and the loft just smells like home and safety. When the entire pack _isn’t_ together, it just smells like _StilesandDerek,_ and Isaac isn’t sure when their scents became so mixed that Isaac could barely smell the difference.

            He knocked on the door to the loft—Derek had made it clear they were welcome all the time, but he heard a few different heartbeats and didn’t want to walk in on a private conversation—and Stiles opened it. He was wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt and holey socks. His hair was ruffled and messy and he seemed strangely comfortable in Derek’s loft. He stepped aside to let Isaac in and he saw Derek sitting on the couch. He was also wearing sweat pants, paired with a wifebeater and bare feet propped up on the coffee table. He had a book in his lap that he held his index finger in as he pushed the cover mostly closed.

            “Everything okay?” He asked, and Isaac feels a little guilty. Derek is his alpha, he should be around often enough that Derek doesn’t assume something is wrong when he arrives.

            “Yeah,” He said. “I left my phone charger here last pack meeting and I’ve been using Scott’s since, but that’s not really working. I just came by to get it.”

            Derek nodded and opened his book. “I put it on the kitchen table. Figured you’d be back for it soon,” He said as he began reading again. Stiles walked around Isaac and plopped down with his back against the arm of the couch. Derek lifted his arms and Stiles plopped his feet on the alpha’s legs before grabbing his laptop off the coffee table and balancing it on his thighs. Isaac stares at the casual interaction blankly before walking to the kitchen. He grabbed his charger, exactly where Derek said it would be, and left, wondering exactly Derek and Stiles had begun dating.

Scott

            Scott was, apparently, the last one in the pack to know about Stiles and Derek. Which isn’t fair _at all,_ because Stiles is his best friend and he should know these things.

            It’s the stupidest thing—a _car accident._ They all fight monsters on a weekly basis and Stiles makes it through with barely a scratch on him, but it’s a human that nearly takes his life. A drunk driver in a pickup truck, to be more precise. Stiles’ jeep ended up half wrapped around a tree and half crushed under the truck. Scott and John Stilinski were in the waiting room of the hospital. Melissa was trying to get information as quickly as she could, and John was pacing. Scott had his fingers curled into his palm, fighting against the anxiety and the overwhelming urge to shift. There was too much noise—too many beeping heart monitors, so many dripping IV tubes, too much crying and coughing and he couldn’t find Stiles in the mess of noise—

            Footsteps were pounding across the floor, right at him. The heartbeat attached to the thunderous running was racing and familiar and Scott looked up.

            Derek looked like complete shit. His eyes were wide and his forehead creased. He was as pale as he had been when he was shot with a wolfsbane bullet. He smelled like fear and anger and his jaw was clenched tight.

            “Where is he?” He growled.

            “I don’t know,” Scott said miserably. “I can’t pick his individual heartbeat out, there are too many, it’s too weak…”

            Derek closed his eyes tight and pressed his thumbs to his temples, ducking his head for a moment and then he exhaled and relaxed. “He’s going to be okay. His heart is strong.”

            Scott frowned. “Why can’t I hear it? Is it an alpha thing?”

            Derek dropped himself onto a seat and shook his head. “It’s a familiarity thing. I just know his heartbeat really well.”

            Scott frowned. “Why? He’s _my_ best friend, has been pretty much my entire life—”

            “He’s been practically living in my loft for the last few months,” Derek said “I don’t know, I just got used to it, to him.”

            “What do you mean, he’s been at your loft? Why?”

            Derek lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at Scott. “You didn’t realize? You didn’t smell the difference?”

            Scott took an automatic breath and stiffened. “You smell like him,” He said. “Why do you smell so much like him?”

            “His scent is all over everything I own,” Derek said, and Scott thought he should sound more upset about that than he did. “He lets himself into my place whenever he wants—got a key made—and he’s sleep in my bed a few times, on my couch more times than I can count, has cooked himself meals in my kitchen, borrowed my clothes...” Derek shrugged. “We’re friends, I think.”

            Scott felt his own eyebrows go up because that was definitely not friendly behavior from Stiles. Sure, Stiles has always made himself at home at the McCall house, but all that?

            “And you’re _okay_ with that?” Scott asked. “It’s not making you uncomfortable, like he’s encroaching on your territory?”

            Derek shrugged. “He’s pack.”

            Scott felt his frown deepen. “So you guys are friends with now?”

            “I guess. Is this really the best time to interrogate me?”

            Melissa entered the waiting room and Derek all but leapt to his feet.

            “It looks like he’s going to be okay.” She said. “A few of his ribs broke and a shard of bone punctured his spleen. He had some internal bleeding, but they caught it in time. He’s going into surgery as we speak. The best doctor in the hospital is operating on him. He should be just fine.”

            Scott felt himself relax in relief—Stiles would be okay—but John gave a sharp nod and took a deep breath.

            “What are the risks?” Derek asked, “Of this operation? Is there any chance he _won’t_ come out of this okay?”

            “With any surgery there is danger,” Melissa said carefully.

            “What should we be expecting?”

            “I wouldn’t say you should _expect_ bad results,” She replied slowly. “However, some risks include blood clots, infections, a collapsed lung, and damage to the organs near the spleen. But like I said, Stiles is with an excellent doctor.”

            Derek joined John in the pacing the entire time Stiles was being operated on. John didn’t relax until Melissa told him Stiles was out of surgery and he could go see him.

            Derek didn’t relax until John came back out, looking confused, and told him Stiles had asked to see him.

John

            John Stilinski prides himself on being a smart man. He didn’t get the position of Sheriff by being a fool. It’s his job to notice things. So of course he notices when Stiles starts lying, giving off nervous ticks when he tells him he’s going over Scott’s. After he did this for a little over a week, the Sheriff called Melissa McCall and checked. His son wasn’t there, hadn’t been by in a long time.

            Stiles walked through the door fifteen minutes before his curfew. He looked more relaxed than he had when he left. The dark circles under his eyes seemed a bit lighter and a small, easy smile was on his lips.

            “Stiles,” John said as his son started toward the steps. He stiffened.

            “Oh, hey dad, I thought you had to work late tonight?”

            “There’s been a change of plans. Why don’t you tell me where you were tonight? Don’t lie this time.”

            “Oh,” Stile said. “Look, I promise I’m not doing anything bad, I just…. I’ve started hanging out with Derek Hale. I would’ve told you sooner but I didn’t really want to you to make the face you’re making right now at me.”

            “Derek Hale,” He said slowly. “The murderer.”

            “He was exonerated,” Stiles said at once. “That was totally my bad, he’s really a good person.”

            “What, exactly, are you doing with Derek Hale?”

            “Sleeping,” Stiles said, and then stiffened and back tracked. “I’m not sleeping _with_ him, well, I mean, I guess in a way I am, but I’m not, not in the way you’re thinking. I take naps on his couch.”

            “Why are you napping on Derek Hale’s couch?”

            Stiles shrugged and didn’t mean John’s gaze.  “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping recently, and it feels safe there. Plus, since Scott’s spending every waking moment with Isaac Lahey now, I’ve kind of been alone even more than I’m used to. And Derek gets that, he’s been alone for so long too, he gets _me_ in a way that no one else besides Scott really has.”

            The familiar guilt was like a punch in John’s stomach. He knew he left Stiles alone all the time, too much, and he forgot how much it bothered him. He’d unknowingly pushed his son into the arms of a _criminal._

“Stop it,” Stiles snapped. “Stop looking like you stepped on a puppy. I’m okay, I am, really. Derek helps, okay? And he’s not bad. He’s smart, even if he’s clueless sometimes. And he may come off as intimidating with the eyebrows and leather, but he’s a total softy. I’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s carried me from the couch to his bed, taken my shoes off and tucked me in, let me hog his space and come over whenever I want.”

            Warmth goes through John at the idea of someone taking care of Stiles when he can’t, but does it really have to be _Derek Hale?_

“What does it say about my job as a parent and a police officer that my son feels safer in the home of a criminal—exonerated, I know—than he does in _our_ home?”

            Stiles sighed. “It’s not your fault, Dad. Derek can protect me in ways that you can’t, ways you can’t even _comprehend._ I’ll explain it all to you someday, but not today, alright? I’m just too tired recently.”

            He knew he should press, find out why Derek is somehow more protection than a _Sheriff,_ but he see the weariness in Stiles’ eyes and sighs. “Alright,” He said. “Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

            Stiles smiled softly, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth and pulled his dad into a hug. “Don’t do anything,” He said. “Please. Derek’s just, he’s important, okay, Dad? Promise me you won’t say something to him. Please, I can’t lose him too.”

            John sighed and agreed, but as soon as he heard Stiles’ bedroom door click shut, he got into his car and drove.

            Derek Hale looked vulnerable and nervous when he opened the door. He was barefoot in wore jeans and a t-shirt. “Sheriff,” He said carefully.

            “May I come in?” John asked and Derek nodded quickly and stepped aside. John came in and he shut the door.   

            There was a blanket messily draped across Derek’s couch, a pillow on one end, and he could see a textbook on the table that clearly belonged to his son.

            “How often does Stiles come here?” John asked flatly.

            “I don’t want any trouble, Sir, not with you or Stiles.”

            He snorted. “I’ve already talked to Stiles. I know he sleeps here sometimes, I just don’t get _why.”_

He turned and faced Derek. “Why does my son feel safer here than at home?”

            Derek shrugged and John was surprised by how confused he genuinely looked. “I don’t know, Sir. I don’t get it either.”

            “He speaks very highly of you,” John said slowly. “Are you boys friends?”

            Derek nodded. “Yes, Sir, I think so.”

            John sighed heavily, because this is _not_ what he had been expected when he realized Stiles had been lying for weeks. “You two can spend time in our house, too,” He said eventually. “I don’t want Stiles forgetting where home really is, even if he seems to think it’s wherever you are at this point.”

            Red spread across Derek’s cheeks and his ears burned.  “Okay. Thank you, Sir.”

            John was suddenly struck with the idea that Derek reminded him of himself when he first fell in love with Claudia, when trying to gain her father’s approval.

            He sighed heavily. “Come to dinner on Sunday,” He said. “Tell Stiles neither of you are as sly as you think you are, since I’m sure you’ll see him before I do.”

            “I’m not sure I understand, Sir.”

            John smiled because, no, it didn’t look like either of them really understood.

Stiles

            Stiles isn’t sure when he stopped hating Derek, when they became friends, or when Stiles started breathing easier when the alpha was around.

            His life had turned into a giant ball of stress, and if he wasn’t researching whatever monster wanted to kill the people he loved that week, he was doing homework. Because he was still attending high school five days a week, most of the time.

            He was _very_ lucky when he got four hours a sleep. Between homework and stress, he was up most hours of the night, or jerking awake from terrifyingly vivid nightmares.

            It started when he fell asleep in the middle of a pack meeting. He woke up after everyone had left, when Derek draped a blanket on top of him. He jerked forward, up to his feet, hands searching for a weapon, any weapon—

            “Stiles! Stiles, _relax,”_ Derek grabbed his arms and pinned them to his sides. “You’re okay.”

            Stiles had gone limp and Derek had eased him onto the couch again. “You’re alright.”

            Stiles took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

            “It’s okay.” Derek put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “What, exactly just happened?”

            “I panicked,” Stiles admitted. “I always wake up disoriented,” He said, “And I panic.”

            Derek’s thumb was moving, slowly, over the bone in his shoulder. “Does this happen to you every morning?”

            Stiles looked away sheepishly. “Only the mornings after I slept.”

            Derek raised his eyebrows. “Stiles, how long has it been since you’ve slept? _Really_ slept, eight hours or more?”

            He shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably since Scott was bitten and all this began. Maybe since my mom died. I never really counted.”

            “You’re sleeping here tonight,” Derek had said firmly. “Your dad’s working all night, you told me that yourself. You’re going to bed right now, and you can sleep as late as you want tomorrow.”

            Stiles sighed. “I’m fine.”

            “I don’t think you are. Just get some sleep, okay? I’ll take the couch.”

            “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever offered to do for me, but I’m okay, really—”

            Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles’ arm, tugging him off to his bedroom. He grabbed a pair of sweats from a dresser drawer and tossed them to Stiles. “Get some sleep.” He took another pair out for himself.

            “Derek?” Stiles said, as he watched him start to pull the door closed. “Thank you.”

            Derek just nodded before leaving the room.

            Stiles wasn’t even sure what happened in the nightmare when he woke up, all he knew was that it had been horrible and he woke up terrified. It didn’t help that he wasn’t in his own bed, and that there were large hands wrapping around his arms, pinning them down.

            “Stiles,” a familiar voice was shouting. “You’re okay! Breathe, breathe, you’re okay! Stop fighting, I’m not going to hurt you!”

            Stiles realized Derek had him pinned to the bed, hands wrapped around Stiles’ wrists, knees on either side of his hips, feet pressing on Stiles’ thighs.

            He felt completely and utterly trapped, and the air just wasn’t coming into his lungs fast enough.

            Derek slid off him and sat him up, rubbed his arms. “Breathe,” He said. “Breathe with me.” He pressed Stiles’ hand and his chest and Stiles took a deep breath in unison with him.

            The tightness around his chest loosened after a few minutes and he let out all his breath in a sharp exhale. “Sorry,” He said, stopping at the look Derek gave him.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked and Stiles shook his head slowly.

            “Not now, I can’t. I just—I need to relax,” He said. “The sad thing is I feel _exhausted,_ and I know sleep is the only thing that can make me feel better, but.” He shrugged.

            “It’ll happen again,” Derek guessed and Stiles nodded.

            “What if—do you think it’d help if I stayed?”

            “You don’t have to stand over my bed and watch me sleep, creeper,” Stiles said, but it was half-hearted. He was just so tired. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to this.”

            “I’m not going to stand over the bed and watch you sleep,” Derek said, sliding down and tugging Stiles with him. He settled into place behind Stiles, one muscled arm draped over his waist. “I’m going to sleep. Is this okay?”

            Stiles’ throat threatened to close up so he just nodded weakly.

            Derek squeezed him lightly and said “Go to sleep. I’ll be right here. You’re safe.”

            Stiles fell asleep and woke up hours later with his face pressed against sleeping Derek’s chest, a thick arm around his shoulders, his arm around Derek’s waist.

            It was the first time he hadn’t had nightmares in months.

            It became almost routine.

            One day, months later, he looked up at Derek’s face, soft and vulnerable in his sleep and thought _oh, shit._

Derek

            Derek has been _extremely_ unfortunate in the past, generally. You can’t even call it bad luck, because there is no luck to be had. If life is an ocean, he is _drowning._ All the time.

            Until he _isn’t_ anymore, until there are skinny arms wrapping around him and pulling him above water, and he doesn’t _understand._ Stiles should not be saving him. Derek should be the stronger of the two, he should be the one doing all the saving in this town, not the sarcastic _human_ who is all but defenseless.

            But Stiles has been saving him from the first day they met.

            It started with the wolfsbane bullet and continued with the pool—figures he would nearly drown physically as well as metaphorically—and countless time since, whether it’s been thinking fast or outsmarting enemies, Stiles has been saving Derek.

            Only recently, he’s started thinking maybe Stiles is doing more than that.

            He made Derek renovate his loft. Derek can’t see any way that would benefit Stiles at all, what does it matter to him whether Derek lives in a place that has a gaping hole in the wall? He thought about it for hours, but he couldn’t find anything Stiles could gain from it. It was selfless.

            And then he was just _around. All the time._ Everything smelled like him and the place felt too still, to empty and quiet and lonesome without Stiles there.

            After Derek insisted Stiles sleep over that first time, Stiles practically moved in. He came over after school, tossing his lacrosse bag into the corner, kicking his shoes off by the door, tossing his hoodie into a chair, and plopping himself on Derek’s couch, his feet on his coffee table, and did his homework.  Sometimes they didn’t speak, didn’t even _greet_ one another, Derek would hear him come inside and move from reading in his bedroom to reading on the couch besides Stiles silently.

            He would finish his homework and go ponder the kitchen, cook up some pasta or something easy and bring black two plates, silently hand one to Derek and start channel surfing.

            When he would decide nothing as on, he’d start talking. Tell Derek about his day, and would shift his way into Derek’s space. After school, Stiles always smelled wrong, like too many strangers. After he ate, he would slide over, put either his feet or his head in Derek’s lap, and he’d fall asleep.

            He still had nightmares, but they were less often when Derek was around, or at least Stiles said.

            Stiles didn’t come _once_ and that was the worst day, the day Derek thought it had happened _again,_ he was going to lose the one person he really cared about—

            But he had heard it, the one heartbeat that mattered, the heart that was usually racing that was too slow, _dangerously_ slow, but it was still beating. And it kept beating.

            Derek woke up Stiles shifted against him. He looked down and wondered how he got there. Not literally, he remembered the previous night. He just wondered _when_ it got like this, when he started falling asleep and waking up with Stiles in his arms, when he started to feel more towards him than just trust and companionship.

            He doesn’t know if he’ll ever know the answer, but as Stiles opens his eyes and smiles up at him sleepily, for the first time in forever Derek’s head is above water.


End file.
